


The higher we soar the smaller we appear to those who cannot fly

by RosaNautica



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: (also kind of), (forgot that one), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bad Flirting, Blow Jobs, Break Up, Denial of Feelings, Dirty Jokes, First Kiss, Getting to Know Each Other, I had too much fun writing them, Internal Conflict, Love Confessions, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rare Pairings, Reconciliation, Romain gets a bit angsty, Slow Build, Sorry Not Sorry, hope this thing still makes sense..., kind of, like really bad ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-08-19 11:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16534061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosaNautica/pseuds/RosaNautica
Summary: "Flying… you're up there and you are free, you can do whatever you want…"~  K. MagnussenThey both need to break free, each in their own way. And maybe it's easier together.





	1. lost in your mind (I wanna know)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romain is cheeky. Kevin is confused.  
> Basically, that's it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I put Kevin there instead of Romain at the press conference... but nevermind. It's a fiction, afterall.

 

 

_Monaco 2018_

 

There was some talking about the hypersofts and the grid girls he couldn't care about less, so he just made a general statement about respect for women in 21st century who were used as merely the board holders and no one really noticed them in all the fuss on the grid, anyways; then there was _much_ talking about Charles being a Monegasque and a rookie, about the unique Monte Carlo circuit and God knows what, until it got too much. He wasn't even sure what was he doing there. Not that he was usually asked questions or something in the press-conferences. Lulled by the sound of Leclerc's accented English, he was drawing a soundwave of the guy's voice with his finger on the table, mind drifting to his teammate that sent him completely off the rails.

“My question to Kevin…”

He nodded as he heard his name and stayed in his faraway place. A nudge to his elbow woke him up.

“Kevin, answer,” Lewis reminded him.

“What? Oh… yeah,” He snapped out of his haze, looking around the room. Reality was too far from his thoughts. He lost his promptness shamefully; he had no idea of how to overcome the situation with grace and humor. Lewis did it for him.

“See? You never ask him anything, then you can't blame him for napping a bit,” he backed him up grinning like a Chesire cat. Kevin shot him a thankful look.

“Yeah… Sorry, can you repeat the question?”

“What do you expect from the race?”

That really was the last drop.

“I expect racing,” he stated with a look similar to a certain media-unfriendly Finn. However, he decided to grace them with a wider answer. “Competition, hopefully some overtakes, and also I expect there's gonna be a winner in the end.” He leaned back to underline the matter has been closed. And he went on with his daydreaming. Something about contracts, about Charles again and again, some wedding or what, again the contracts, apparently a banter between Seb and Lewis, as people were laughing, all that was buzzing around Kevin's ears… Nobody was giving a flying fuck about him anymore and he just wanted to be back in his room, out on the track, just anywhere else, doing anything that would distract him from his thoughts.

He made it to the end, eventually, and in the meantime, he summarized the whole problem. It all started with realizing he was way too much looking forward to seeing his teammate after the winter. The pre-season testing (and empty longing that followed) confirmed there was definitely something wrong. And since the season has started and they were spending time together, the feeling kept growing stronger. On his first season with Haas, Kevin found a teammate surprisingly easy to get along and surprisingly willing to share some experience. Now Grosjean seemed to be more than that. Or Kevin wanted him to be more than that. Anyhow, it was a mess.

 

~

 

“How was the conference?” Romain was interested.

“I don't even know I was at a conference,” he huffed. “I don't know. Loads of bullshit, what's even the point of talking about things?! And I just had to get the most stupid question of all. I mean, I don't know, really, what are they calling us there for? I have plenty of more useful stuff to do…”

“Like?”

“Uhm, work out? Simulator? Netflix? Whatever! Not everyone is a chattery Frenchman like you…”

“Hey!”

"…there are also, for example, the Danes that prefer to do their job…”

“Well, technically I am Swiss, so…”

“But you're too French to be Swiss, that's why you race under the French flag. C'mon, Romain, you're all cooking and fancy dressing and shit, how is that Swiss?”

“Well…”

“Gotcha,” Kevin smirked. Grosjean crunched up his nose.

“So, what was the stupid question?” he changed the topic.

“What do I expect from the race.”

“How original.”

“Yeah. Bet he wanted to hear I'm gonna go for epic crash in the Mirabeau, taking a few guys out with me and then tell them all to suck my balls… That's the tough life of the most underrated guy in the paddock, you see.”

“The most underrated?! Hold my beer, mate,” Romain snorted, “I'll show you what _that_ means.” He searched for something in his phone.

“More like hold my baguette,” Magnussen continued his French-bash.

“You'd like that, huh?”

He gasped, not realizing how wrong it sounded at first. He should have, though. Such “that's what she said” innuendos were becoming more and more common between them, lately.

“Sure, preferably with much of mayo,” he said, as there was no way backwards. It was the same with all those puns.

 

_“What happened there, Kev? You were there for, like, forever…”_

_“Yeah, guys couldn't get it up.”_

_“I was asking about the pitstop, but whatever…”_

 

_“Tech briefing, Romain!”_

_“Already?!”_

_“Yep. Are you coming or what?”_

_“Make me…”_

 

_“It should be raining on quali.”_

_“Good, I like it wet…”_

 

It was utterly confusing. Why on Earth would _Romain Grosjean_ , of all people, try to _flirt_ with _him_ in this manner?! And well, if that's not flirting, Kevin is three times world champion by now…

He had never thought of anything like that before. He wasn't supposed to think. All he had to do was deny, pretend, forget. Wait, maybe. But no hoping, no pondering about _what ifs_ , no wondering whether he's reading the signs right – he wasn't any good at reading signs, he never needed to…

All in all, Kevin had no clue. Which was making him feel truly stupid and useless. Of course, he knew he shouldn't succumb to anything such crazy, putting in stake all he's fought for, all of his life… But then again, he couldn't be just imagining things, right? He might be inexperienced in certain ways, but definitely not dumb!

And he was merely a human, too, and there's only so much an average human can bear. He could cope with bad boy media picture and all the hate towards him, with the bubble he was living in, but this… _this?!_ Hell, g-force was easier to resist than having a gorgeous man absolutely out of his league dropping hints of sort.

And Kevin decided not to struggle anymore. Hence the mayonnaise backfire that had Grosjean whistle and look up from the screen.

“Got me on this one,” he gave him a thumb up, laughing hard. Kevin smiled smugly. Not the last time, darling. Want a challenge? You get it. He could have a dirty mouth too, if he wanted.

He got Romain's phone shoved in his face.

“See? Comments on my season so far. Now who's underrated?” Full of statements commiserating the Haas for having such a poor driver, or rather such a terrible line-up made of bad and worse… And yes, they both were all smiles and laughs about it, but truth is, it never adds to driver's confidence, he's already frustrated enough himself. Especially a mentally unstable one like Romain Grosjean. Kevin shook his head, putting the phone screen-down on the table.

“Fuck that. Seriously, fuck that, Romain. You're damn fast, you know you _have_ that speed and those skills. You just need to pull it out.”

No stupid jokes this time. Grosjean just nodded thoughtfully, cracking a smile. Kevin wanted to add something like _“if you wanna talk…”_ , but afraid of looking mushy, patted his back instead and left before he'd manage to embarrass himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for being gross. And to the French people - I didn't mean any offence, honestly! 
> 
> Feedback much appreciated! If there's anyone interested in this story, please, feel free to let me know! :)


	2. wake up that small part of me (day to day I'm blind to see)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you want to know someone better, and find out things you wouldn't have expected about yourself, instead.
> 
> Their Grill the Grid video was uploaded and the guys decided to watch it for lack of better programme (or rather for having a reason to spend a few whiles together).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, this was where it all started for me, so... it just had to be written!  
> Sorry if you find the chapter long and static, but I wanted to outline the characters a bit...

 

 

_ France, 2018 _

 

The _Truth or Lie_ game was arguably the best promo event Kevin's ever taken part in. Mainly because he had Romain at his side, joking and laughing, having way too much fun even for his standards.

And then along came the “cheesy pick-up line” question.

 _“I_ _'_ _m sure I would_ _have… I don_ _'_ _t remember any particular one…”_

 _“You did try with me,”_ Romain reminded, while the reporter was trying to make Magnussen remember, _“you did try with me…”_ Bemused and lighthearted, as he was all the time. Kevin froze inside. Keeping the smile on, he just nodded with a noncommittal _“Yeah…”_ and waited for the next question, hoping they were going to cut that out.

It wasn’t cut out and now that they were watching it, he felt that cold grip at his guts again. One thing was what he told Nico, he didn't give a fig about him and people could joke and say whatever they pleased, he didn't give a fig about them, neither. But this, this was different, and he certainly didn't want to raise any suspicions. Because of his teammate, if nothing else. But apparently no one was reading too much into it.

He stopped for a moment wondering at Grosjean's “I wasn't good at picking up girls” statement. Then he realized he's not a girl. And what Romain is good at, thus dirty innuendo, double meaning jokes, probably doesn’t work with the gentle sex – it says _gentle_ for a reason. With Kevin, it worked too well for his own liking – though he doubted it was an actual serious pick up effort. He considered it a game of some strange kind and just played along, because it was making him feel a bit special, and a bit more like a normal guy his age just normally fooling around…

All in all, the video was nice. Out of the whole series, he honestly liked it the best so far. Boredom and memory of hilarious filming were what led him to his suggestion:

“Wanna play?”

“Huh?” Grosjean turned at him, surprised.

“Truth or lie.”

He quirked an eyebrow. Then again, they had nothing better to do.

“Okay,” he shrugged. He grew to sincerely enjoy sharing little bits of life with his teammate, so the idea was inviting.

“Okay. So, first question…” Kevin licked his lips. Romain had his own interpretation of sudden silence.

"What, thinking of a question that you can answer, too?” he laughed. The Dane snorted.

"I can answer just whatever question.”

"Just whatever?”

He wasn't sure about that glitter in Romain's eyes, but it looked like a challenge and he liked that.

"Yeah. So, Romain: is there anything you really regret saying?”

“Oh. Well, let me think…”

“Now who can't answer?”

“No, it's just… they are too many,” Grosjean laughed. “That’s how it goes when you talk too much… Maybe when… you know, my father really, really cared for my school grades. And we used to argue about that. All the other guys were just karting and karting, and playing racing videogames and karting again and stuff, and I had to sit home and study… So, once I told my Dad I didn't want a fucked up life like his, achieving nothing and being stuck in a boring job… It was such a shitty thing to say and I still feel bad when I think of it today… You? Do you ever regret anything, actually?”

“Heh. You have a point, though. Not really. I don't know… Once I said about my neighbor that her nose looked like an ass. And her son heard it and gave me some beating… But it was true, poor woman. I just regret saying it too loud, it did hurt quite a lot… Good boy, though, gotta give him that, I'd do the same.”

“You bet! I would kill you, mate… What was the worst thing you did at school?”

“That’s not a truth or lie question.”

“Does it matter?”

Fair point. It didn’t actually matter, in the end.

„Hard to do anything when I was barely there,” he burst out laughing, „but let me think… Yeah, maybe the worst was… My best friend was responsible for the class funds and I was making him buy football tickets for us and a couple of guys and list it as a class event…”

„Badass, Kev!” Grosjean slapped his thighs in amusement. “Me? No, I was a good boy,” he casted down his eyes and for some reason Kevin found it fairly smut. „But to be honest, I did some stupid. I remember once we took glasses from one guy and tried to burn the grass behind the school, you know, with sun shining through the glasses. And it did burn,” he beamed. „But then the teacher caught us. The fucking guy without glasses told her.”

„Wow. If this was the worst, you had to have terribly boring schoolyears. Have you ever stolen anything?”

„Like really stolen from a shop? No.”

„And not from a shop?”

„Well, there were some things that I borrowed and never returned back, like some pens, t-shirts…”

„You were keeping other guys' t-shirts? Weirdo,” Kevin backed away.

„No, it just… happened! Like, my friend moved away and then I found his t-shirt in my room that he left there after some sleepover, and I was too lazy to send it back, he never asked for it anyways, and it was a nice t-shirt…”

„I don't wanna imagine the mess that was your room.”

„Oh, shut up! How about you? Only the funds?”

„Well, I…” Now it was about to look bad, but apparently, his teammate wasn't the one to judge people. He was way too laid-back, holding his ankles and swaying back and forth, anticipating some curious facts. „As a kid I used to take stuff from our local shop. Like chewing gums, candies, nothing really expensive, and other times I was leaving tips to make up for it… I just liked the adrenaline of stealing it. Then I learned to get adrenaline elsewhere…”

Romain didn't laugh, nor did he say anything close to reprimand, he just looked intrigued. And distant, suddenly.

„Yeah,” he sighed, „adrenaline…” As if it was something he was no longer allowed to feel. Sound of longing and helplessness in his voice. Kevin would have liked to dig deeper but didn't know how. It wasn't his turn, anyways. And Romain definitely didn’t want to go that way.

„Do you pick your nose, when you're alone?”

„Not only when I'm alone.”

„Eww!”

„Just playing by the rules,” the Dane shrugged. „You?”

„Only alone.”

„Wow, a true gentleman. Now I have a question: if you had to die tomorrow, what would be your last wish?”

Grosjean pursed his lips in thoughts and it appealed to Kevin that he didn't say the first ridiculous thing that crossed his mind.

„I'd want to say goodbye to my family.” Silence that followed told Magnussen it's time for him to answer. Normally he would say something along the lines of „Share a bottle of Jack Daniel's” or „Have a good fuck”, but he put some sincerity in it.

„I guess… I'd want to do one last race.” He was pretty sure he saw his teammate gulp. „Or get a tattoo.”

„What would it be?”

„Don't know. I'll think about it, though. I'm interested myself,” he smiled. Romain bit his lip and took a breath.

„You ever did anything with a guy?” The question, dropped there literally out of nowhere, startled Magnussen a little. Being the first one to answer was cruel. And why on Earth would Romain want to know, in the first place?! He could shake his head, laugh the truth away, crack some stupid joke and bury that question deep under the rest of confessions they both made that afternoon. Instead, he nodded slowly.

„More than _ever_ and more than _anything_.” And it was out. His reputation was in Grosjean's hands, now clutching the jeans on his knees, wide eyes showing an emotion difficult to read: a mix of wonder, apology and something too deep underlying to define.

„Are you fucking serious?!“

„Give me one reason why I would make up something like that,” he said half-jokingly, but still tense inside. The Frenchman shook his head.

„I haven't.”

„Kinda expected that,” Kevin stated, only to say something.

„Why?”

„Guys like you don't mess around. I mean…”

„Oh, so only young and free can have fun?” his teammate exclaimed, and Magnussen couldn't really tell, to what extent he meant it. „And by the way, you have a girlfriend, too!”

„A girlfriend that I have never even lived with, to start with. And I never will.”

Neither of them knew what to say next. To have fun? Really, Romain? Kevin shook the thoughts off. No point whatsoever. They are teammates, ergo main rivals. Nothing more. No friends, no buddies, no nothing. Full stop. Except they already were at least friends, however he tried to deny it… He was in perfect mood to end the game, but it would look rather suspicious. So, he kick-started his brain and came up with the most innocent question:

“What are you the most afraid of?”

“The most? Of my brakes!”

Kevin laughed, grateful for this mood-lighting answer, no matter how far from truth it was. Romain pursed those damn lips again.

“It's not funny, seriously, it can kill you! What about you? Spiders?” He grinned.

“Nah, spiders truly freak me out, but…” But how to say it? Oh dear, why couldn't he just say yes and move on? The real fear is something else. It's sitting deep, deep in his mind and in his chest, cold and heavy and as much as he'd love to forget it, it's there. The fear of standing on his own against the world, against the hypocritic society of Formula 1 that would build PR on him, making supportive public statements about something they truly are disgusted with, smile politely, maybe sympathetically in his face and as soon as he turns his back on them, they would badmouth him, because that's how people do it, right? The fear of being exposed and above all, of being labelled. He must have said some of that out loud, because Grosjean frowned.

“Not that you aren't labelled now.”

“That's a bit different, you know.” The reputation he had was based on his actions, and although it wasn't entirely accurate, he has built it up himself, consciously.

“I know, I… understand.”

He wasn't sure anyone could understand that but appreciated the empathy.

“But you wouldn't be alone, you know?” Romain smiled ever so fondly. And after a moment of comfortable silence, while nipping at the stitching of his jeans, he suggested, clearly with some obscure intentions: “Can we play truth or dare instead?”

Kevin nodded, unsure of what he's getting himself into. He could tell it wasn't going to end well, yet for some reason, he agreed.

“Perfect. It might be a short game… So, truth or dare?”

Truth seemed to be less dangerous.

“Do you like me?”

It wasn't. Kevin blinked. In which sense? That is, he liked him in every sense, but… He raised his eyebrows.

“Like as a person or…”

“Like as… a man.”

Great. Now what? Yes or no? Yes – and he'll lose a possible friend? No – and he'll lose a possible lover? What _are_ they now, exactly? Oh God… why couldn't he just stick to his beliefs and not let anyone get under his skin? Stupid, stupid K-Mag – you know how to fuck things up, don't you? Couldn't you just be glad you had a drive, a pretty good one for that matter, and a teammate you were getting along with? No. No, because…

“Kevin?” Romain urged him.

“Dare,” he muttered, admitting the truth he couldn't get out of his mouth. The Frenchman leaned in with a triumphant smile.

“Kiss me.”

Out of the frying pan and straight into the fire. Alright. If he's to burn, he'll go down in ashes with some nice memory. He brushed their lips together. Romain pressed at his nape.

“Don't be a girl, Kevin,” he whispered, deepening the kiss. Kevin bit his teammate's lips and slid his tongue between them. A hand stroking his arm, fingers combing through his hair, overwhelming feeling of warmth, both physical and spiritual, had him lose sense of time. It had to be a long kiss, at the end of which he found himself completely out of breath, cradled in Grosjean's arms. “You're a damn good kisser,” the older man complimented him with a big smile.

“It takes two,” Kevin smirked, “I wouldn't be good on my own…”

“I'm here at your disposal anytime, don't worry,” Romain pecked his lips.

Maybe it wasn't just a game, after all.

Maybe it was.

At the moment, dizzy Kevin was too high to give a damn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, well, then the P4 and P5 in Austria followed... ;)  
> Hope you found this bit enjoyable, I'll be glad to hear from you! :)


	3. when you get what you want (but not what you need)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a hot summer day in Budapest. Pretty hot.  
> Night is a bit colder.

 

 

_ Hungary, 2018 _

Something was in the thick, heavy air, but it was hard to make the first move, out of nothing. Eventually, Kevin got tired of staring contest.

“Wanna make out?” he sat next to his teammate. Romain grinned, pulling him closer.

“With you always,” he whispered against his lips. They haven't gotten past the first base so far, and Kevin had some doubts on whether the other man was indeed sexually attracted to him, or just sought a bit of warmth, being far from home, and he trusted Kevin enough with this – a secret for a secret was a good deal…

He decided it was about time to stop tiptoeing around each other and get things straight (as ironic as the word _straight_ was in their case). He ran his hand down Romain's chest and belly, path followed by soft moans into his mouth; as he reached between wide spread thighs, he was quite sure the gasp sounded like _“Kev…”_ It made him melt a little inside. He palmed Grosjean's groin and suddenly felt a firm grip on his wrist. There was a shuddered breath, a heavy blush on fine cheekbones, a trace of… fear? – in steely blue eyes. Kevin pulled back.

„Sorry,” they uttered in unison, as if to underline how awkward their whole situation was. The Dane shook his head, forehead against Romain's temple.

„No, you have nothing to be sorry for. That's me, actually, I shouldn't be doing this, putting you in this position and…”

„I'm a grown up, goddammit, Kevin, if I didn't want to be in this position, I would walk right out of that door,” Romain snapped, harsher than he wanted, adjusting his clothes uselessly – his main problem wasn't that easy to adjust. Kevin grabbed his forearm. Pulled him closer by the waist, lips pressed to his neck.

„Then just give it a go,” he murmured, „and we'll see where it takes us. I want you so bad…”

„Yeah, I… I want you, too…” Romain sighed.

„Then just let go… do what you feel like doing, right in this moment.”

He grasped at the hem of Kevin's t-shirt and pulled it up. The Dane lifted his arms with a sharp intake of breath and as he was out of the fabric, he straddled his teammate. In between heated kisses he rid him of his shirt as well. They were skin on skin for the first time, and it felt quite dizzying. That, and sitting in Romain's lap. Kevin grinded against him as Romain kissed his way down the jawline and neck to his chest, firm hands on Kevin's waist holding him in place. The latter dropped his eyes; image of slender fingers digging into fair flesh would have been picturesque, if it wasn't for the tiny piece of precious metal ruining the harmony. Sparkling maliciously as if to remind him that he's only a drive-through, a free time activity that will never make it deeper into the Frenchman's heart; he can be glad he'll get into his pants at least. He went past the moment when he could refrain himself from falling in love. He was there, hopelessly and irreversibly, and the only way now was not to show. Or it was all going to fall apart. They would get awkward and distant and maybe sour and hateful and… it's still better to choke back all the feelings for the sake of getting some, of joking around, of good fair racing…

 ~

Neven has he ever seen anything as obscene as Kevin giving a blowjob. Sucking hard, gasping and gagging, taking it deep down his throat, he looked delirious, which disturbed Grosjean at first, but at the same time he found it incredibly beautiful. The Dane had a way of bringing out his deepest desires, unleashing his forbidden fantasies, taking him to the rougher edge where he could let go of himself, and Romain didn't object. He rather grasped at Kevin's hair and thrusted against him, earning a choked moan.

A string of viscous spit tied them together despite Kevin's glistening lips quivering slightly as he was catching his breath. It felt surreal: he had Kevin's hands on his abs and his own fingers tangled in disheveled blond hairdo, yet it felt like their deepest connection was all in that fragile trace of saliva. Romain didn't want to break the spell, but he had to pull Kevin up to lick at his chin and slick mouth.

“Don't be gross,” Kevin gasped, as Romain with a provoking half-smile gulped down the spit with cum.

“Can't help it,” he shrugged, “you just turn me into this… And don't say you don't like it.”

Kevin didn't say anything. He wasn't sure what to do next. Should he just leave, or at least say it was good? Or stay a bit? No, that probably not… He caressed Grosjean's cheek and stood up.

“See you then,” he managed to say. The Frenchman raised his eyebrows, but then just nodded.

“See you, sweetie,” he pursed his lips with an inviting gesture. Kevin bent over for a smooch that made him feel a bit better.

It was worth it, the feeling of… well, of cock in his mouth, fingers digging into his shoulders, desperately tugging at his hair, it was worth it. And knowing he gave some pleasure to the man he loved was well worth the tears he cried that night. And he'd do it again and again, just for the satisfaction from Romain's blissful look and for that sweet kiss, no matter what he was or wasn't getting in return…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's a bit of action... Hope you enjoyed, I'll be happy to know, any comments are very welcome! ;)


	4. tonight's the night (for me and you, my part-time lover)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't be who you are, they said.  
> Now Kevin found a way to be.

 

 

_ Russia, 2018 _

 

He took a shower and put on something nicer than his workout clothes, although he didn't really have high hopes. He got somehow used to perspective that their affair will stay on level of jerk-offs and – from Kevin's side – blowjobs, he could live with that, what counted was that they had something special, understanding and respect and… A sharp knock made his heart flutter.

“Hey,” he opened the door. Romain backed him into the room, shut the door and crushed his teammate against the wall, biting rather than kissing and squeezing him almost painfully. “What the hell?” Kevin gasped. He barely understood the words between heavy breaths:

“I've got a contract.”

“I know?” he raised questioning eyebrows. Romain rolled his eyes, shook his head and ended the talk by a deep French kiss, pressing him hard into the wall. They were completely glued together, yet it still felt like not close enough.

“Hold me up?” Kevin tried; as a pair of hands grasped at his butt, he jumped up and wrapped his legs around the other man's hips and treaded his fingers through messy chestnut hair. Romain glanced up at him with a look of sheer animalistic need. It already felt sickeningly romantic, but Kevin completely melted down when he whispered _“Hold on,”_ and carried him to the bed.

“You're heavier than you look, dammit,” he chuckled as they toppled on the sheets and he pulled off Kevin's shirt.

Before kicking off his jeans, Romain took something out of his pocket, and Kevin's heart skipped a beat when the Frenchman knelt above him with a predatory grin and a square package in his mouth. Call him blind, he didn't see that coming at all and suddenly felt a bit unsure. It's been a while – if five years count as such… Grosjean noticed that moment of hesitation. He shook his head questioningly. Kevin nodded, biting his lip.

“Just to remind you I'm gonna need to sit on that ass tomorrow…”

“I'll take it easy this time, don't worry,” Romain winked as if to say _“we both know it's not just about the qualifying, but that's perfectly fine,”_ ripped the condom sachet with his teeth and spat the corner somewhere beside the bed. Kevin was already looking forward to the times when he was going to take it rough.

~

“I guess I like your way of celebrating contracts.”

“It's not that.” Romain propped himself up on one elbow. “I couldn't… sort of take advantage of you and then just leave after the season.” No point in pretending he could've gotten a seat in any other team. “You're not a one-night thing, Kevin, I wanted to fuck you when I was sure I would stay.”

Kevin rolled onto his stomach, face buried in the pillow. He already was getting emotional for all the long-forgotten sensations and Romain's gentleness, now this was too much… An arm draped around him, a thumb caressing his shoulder.

“Come here, sweetie,” Grosjean pulled him onto his chest. He must have reached the peak of possible perceptivity: they had never talked about Kevin's past experiences and stories, but he somehow fully sensed the situation. “I promise I'll do my best to make up for all that you've missed,” he said with a soft chuckle. And only Kevin's post-coitally melted brain could allow that persistent thought to leave his mouth:

„See, and this is why I love you so,” he blurted out and froze. His heart rate jumped up pretty much like when spinning at 320 kph, he couldn't breathe neither in nor out, so he was just holding that little of air in his lungs, until he couldn't anymore and took a deep, shaky breath. He was about to make up the lamest explanation when Romain, with a sigh, tightened his grip around him.

„I don't know if I can give you all that you want and need and deserve,” he said, wavering voice filled with desire to do so, „and I'm afraid to hurt you trying and failing, but I want you, Kevin, I really, really want to be with you…”

The Dane relaxed against him. That was good. That was actually better than anything he hoped for. Fuck the moralities and I-don't-wanna-hurt-you kinda stuff. They're on measured time here. One more year, for now. And for that one year, they will make it work.

„Look, I'm not the type for happy-ever-afters," he assured. "While it's good, it's good, and then we'll see. Everything ends sooner or later, so we gotta make the most of it, while it lasts, no?”

Likely the best advice Jenson gave him in his McLaren years was basically _don't fuck around, it could cost you a lot._ He wasn't sure if that was some personal experience speaking and he never asked, but the Brit's words cut deep. _If you want to make it big, you can't just be who you are, Kevin, however beautiful it is._ Hell, he was barely twenty, he had never thought of people turning into bastards, blackmailing him in change for silence, or plainly outing him just for the hell of it, to brag they laid a Formula 1 driver. No matter what legal steps would be taken and how everything would be swept under the carpet, nothing would wash away the stain on his reputation. And it freaked him to death. His only luck was that the guy he used to hook up with never turned into a bastard. So far, at least. He didn't expect him to, neither. For what he heard from their mutual friends, he had a nice stable job and a nice stable relationship and no reason to run around ruining people's lives. Anyways, Kevin had decided not to undergo any further risks and buried his true self under a thick layer of pretend. He played this twisted “make believe” so well he almost believed it himself. However, there was always a block between him and the world around, the society, a protective wall he’s built – showing in his body language of which he wasn’t even aware, but those arms permanently folded on his chest or hands clasped over the crotch were speaking for themselves… Around his teammate, he was way more relaxed. Especially when they were alone. He felt safe to be who he was and it was beautiful, even just for a few stolen moments of privacy. Because Romain wanted him exactly for that, for who he was, with all his flaws. Kevin had never thought a relationship could feel so natural, so genuine, all he ever knew was an anxious effort to make it seems so. Now he wasn't going to let go. Though he was to be only Romain's lover, always second, always unavowed, balancing on a tightrope between the empty loneliness he didn't want to turn back to and the ridiculous cotton candy dreams he'd never reach, hanging above the deep abyss of uncertainty, left with only scraps and hope that Grosjean won't get fed up with him too soon.

"We absolutely do and we will, I swear."

There's the word _love_ in "lover", and that's still just about the closest he has ever gotten to love. He can't really complain, can he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's something about Kevin's defensive postures that just makes me wanna hug him... <3  
> How is it, so far? This got out of hand a bit, if I'm getting unbearably sappy, just tell me XD


	5. youth's like diamonds in the sun (and diamonds are forever)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Such a shitty date. Ideal to shatter hopes into dust. The devastating 11th of September lies heavy on Romain Grosjean’s chest and finally he found the target to aim his frustration at. An innocent one, but that’s how it goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Kevin’s birthday party, Romain’s absence and vain regrets.  
> (11th of September 2018 Charles’ move to Ferrari was announced)

 

 

 

_ Japan, 2018 _

 

“So? Twenty-six. You began your second quarter of century in this world, how's that?”

“God, I feel fucking old when you say it like this!” Kevin shuddered. His teammate snorted.

“ _You_ telling _me_ something about being old, seriously?!”

“You're thirty-two!”

“Nice to know you remember my age.” It was hard to define if there was some sincerity under his irony.

“What's your point, exactly? Yes, I remember it. Nineteen eighty-six. Seventeenth of April.”

“Clever boy... And can you also count thirty-two minus twenty-six?” Romain pressed his lips together for a moment, then cracked a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. “How was the [burger](https://bt.bmcdn.dk/media/cache/resolve/image_1240/image/120/1202201/22248691-mags.jpg)?”

“You wish I ate it all, don't you? And the fries and milkshake, too… Nah, Romain, gain your advantage some other way…”

“Oh, c'mon, who do you think I am?! Just asking!”

“If you were there, you would know, I'd give you a bite.”

Fair point. Romain felt like shit about it, honestly, but this birthday was too much on him.

“My bad.”

“But yeah, the burger was amazing, too bad it's the race weekend… It was definitely a better gift than an e-mail,” he had to add his share of bitterness to this strained conversation as well, the mean kick-out from McLaren still vivid in his memory.

As there wasn't much to say, apart from more biting remarks, they went each their own way, reducing their contact to necessary minimum. Everybody needs time apart every now and then, to cope on their own with stuff they can't bring up.

Such as Romain running out of his time in the sport, realizing it more than ever now when he caught a second wind and regretted all the lost chances, now when he had a driven youngster in his bed and for a teammate, bringing out the best in Grosjean and irritating him at the same time, reminding him of everything that wasn’t coming back, of bright-eyed hopes for future, hungry determination to _#NeverGiveUpOnTheDream_ … In Kevin's years, the Frenchman was on top, with DAMS and Lotus. Where did it go wrong, when, what? He has given up on his dream, inevitably. Leclerc’s signing for _four fricking years_ exasperated him to no end. After one, albeit good-looking, season in F1, seriously?! Romain’s only thoughts when lying in his bed staring at the ceiling, for the past three weeks, were all about his missed shots. 2012, Spa, Abu Dhabi, 2013, Monaco, 2014, Hungary… And so on, and so forth. Let alone the once competitive Lotus breaking down, and his Haas’ brakes letting him down a bit too often, he earned his crash-driver reputation by fair means. But he’d had his ten podiums, his seventh place in drivers’ championship. He was delivering, and somehow it was never enough to move up where he felt he belonged. To a top team that would give him strong, reliable wings to spread and fly as he craved to (and there is no Red Bull hint in that, he was always dreaming red rather than cobalt blue). Set his raw speed potential free.

Thinking of it all was crushing him, but he couldn’t stop. And he couldn’t stand Kevin. Ingenuous, selfless Kevin, congratulating him on P5. Romain mustered a smile. Only he knew how much he wanted to outqualify the Dane. Desperately.

 

~

 

“Great race.”

“Sorry about yours.”

“Fuck that. You know what that little wanker said?!”

“Don't,” Romain squeezed his shoulders in calming attempt. “You aren't stupid, Kevin, not at all.”

Stupid truly not. More like a bit hot-headed (and about that Grosjean surely wasn't the one to preach), too aggressive for someone's liking… He needed to have a closer look at what had happened to judge it properly and have a word about it. But that could wait. Kevin unclenched his fists and not knowing what to do with them now, hooked his fingers in Romain’s belt loops, tugging him closer. And yes, Romain wanted to outrace him as well, but certainly not this way. He pulled him in a firm embrace.

“What are those six years for you?” Kevin asked out of the blue.

“Which six years?”

“Between us.”

Oh. Those six years he wanted to go through once again, and differently. He had already forgotten that sour counting exercise, it was a no-brainer back then. It apparently stuck with Kevin, though, and who knows what he was thinking of it. But Romain couldn’t put any of his feelings in words, now that he had his teammate clinging to him in need of comfort.

“Nothing, really. For you?” he returned the question. Kevin squeezed him a bit tighter, clearly with something sweet on his mind, and Grosjean was _definitely_ not going to share his rancorous envy. The Dane shook his head.

“Neither.” It was much easier than to explain how he was feeling special and kind of… protected, and so delighted that a settled-down man like Romain was taking him seriously, despite his flickers of immaturity, almost childishness, how Kevin saw a guidance in him…

“Good, then.”

They parted with a soft peck, Kevin not really in a mood for anything and Romain still decent enough not to fuck just for the sake of it, without any deeper feeling, taking out his frustrations on the poor guy who surely wasn’t the one to blame them on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, spotlight on Romain in this fic, he deserves it.  
> (And he would deserve much more that he has achieved, don’t you think? :/)


	6. (your journey's been) etched on your skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While cherishing the last moments before parting their ways, Kevin gives his teammate something to think about in long winter evenings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the season's over, both there and irl...

 

 

_ Abu Dhabi, 2018 _

 

„Remember our truth or lie game? I was thinking about my last tattoo. I guess I would get a chequered flag and a writing: _I had lived. It was worth it._ ”

Grosjean blinked and said nothing. For a while they just sat in silence.

„You were born a racer,” the Frenchman eventually broke it. At Kevin's puzzled look he elaborated: „You have that something that makes difference between an F1 driver and a  _racer_. Don't you ever let anything and anyone take it away from you, ever.”

Kevin felt warmth spreading inside, and he was sorry. He'd been putting the pieces of his teammate's personality together since awhile and it all started to make perfect sense to him. It was obvious that Romain had lost _that something_ along the way and he wanted it back, too.

“Hey,” he moved closer. “You know, what I said about flying – you are free to do whatever you want… It's the same when you're in the car. I mean, yeah, there are the rules and other guys and…”

“…and you have nine penalty points and a race ban hanging over your head but yeah, why the hell not?” Grosjean laughed. Kevin shook his head.

“No, I mean… in the air you must watch out, too. It’s not like you can just fly and land however you want, right? But… there's only you and that plane… or, well, that car, and the track, and two hours when you are only who you wanna be, a racer, and you don't have to care about all the bullshit outside… I mean, do you realize how lucky we are? This world is full of guys and girls dreaming of our lives, because that's what they see of it: racing. Wins, champagne, parties, girls and all that jazz, sure, but first of all, there's the racing. They know next to nothing about all the crap we're pulling through, so… maybe we should try that, too? To live more for the racing and less for everything else? I know, I know you can't,” he raised his hands, seeing Romain open his mouth, “but… just a little, you know? Be just a little more reckless, a little less… tied up, just a little bit that could make you feel more… free? Happier? I think it would. And don’t think of the standings and transfers, future and shit, just… live for the moment,” he waved his forearm, flashing the _Viva la Vida_ inscription. “We don’t have an eternity to spend here, so just live, love, gamble on your luck,” he pointed respectfully at the stopwatch, the rose and the playing cards and dice, “and maybe you’ll win some, you’ll lose some, that’s how it goes in life, just play with what you’ve got – that’s where the true skill shows.”

Romain, watching him all the time with amazed half-smile, pulled him in a hug. He gulped, took a breath and for a second Kevin squeezed his eyes shut, because it felt like… like something he was longing to hear, though he shouldn't have.

“I'll try,” the Frenchman said instead, stroking his back. “Teach me how, maybe?”

“Bet your ass I will. I owe you this one.”

“What for, exactly?”

“I've learnt one hell of a lot from you,” Kevin pulled away, “hope I've got something to give you back.”

“You have no idea of what you've got,” Romain muttered before planting a kiss on his mouth. He got an answer to all he’d been going through since the Ferrari announcement, in a nutshell. Giving up on a dream means to really give up, not to remain hanging somewhere in the middle between the dream and the reality, distant from both. Haas was a good place to be. The best. _The best of the rest_ – that was his mission now. They have given him a good drive, faith, lots and lots of support and the least he can do in return is make that team as great as possible. He’s been here since their very beginning and if (fairly likely) nothing better crosses his path, he’ll stay till his very end. Next year is his chance not to miss. To become the Formula 1.5 champion, that’s also an achievement, midpack battles are tough and close. To extend his contract. To stay with Kevin.  “And… if we can catch up sometime during the break, would you take me for a flight?” Shiny smile told him he got the message through: not only he agreed to Kevin's social experiment on him, but even wanted to spend time together outside the F1 circus. Which he really wanted. As screwed up as it was, Grosjean couldn't make it through the winter without him.

“But… you know what? This is actually an interesting thing: try to think of a tattoo you would get.”

“I don't want to get a…”

“My God, Romain, there's this thing called fantasy, you know? You can use it for many things, not just sex and dreams of podium…”

“Okay, okay, so?”

“So, just think, if you had to choose one thing to have on your skin forever…”

“Technically, I think, you can remove…”

“Shut the fuck up, Grosjean, will you?!”

“Maybe, if you shut me up? Use your _fantasy_ , Kevin…”

That put an end to any meaningful conversation. But the thing about Grosjean was, he was listening even when he didn't seem to. And on his flight to Switzerland he replayed everything Kevin has ever told him about the inks.

_It is something that expresses your deepest self. Or it should be. I'm not talking idiots that have kung pao with rice noodles written all across their chest just because the signs look cool…_

_You don't have to actually have it inked. I also have some ideas that I probably never will have tattooed, 'cause… well, just because. Feels too personal. But it's a good thing to know what it would be. You get to know yourself a bit better. Because it's something, it should be something that stays with you._

Romain folded his arms under his head, deep in thoughts. It's not as easy as it seems, and by far not as stupid as he used to think. A tattoo. Something universal and personal. Challenging task, really. And just for the challenge, if nothing else, he decided he would come up with a perfect concept of his imaginary tattoo. One day, when he'll know who he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankfully, Gene Haas "invented" the Formula 1.5 championship, now Romain can set a goal :)
> 
> Random fact: Kevin’s last tattoo is a translated line from one of my fav songs <3
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, feedback appreciated!! :)


	7. if I could escape (and recreate a place that’s my own world)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not only being someone’s lover is tough at times.  
> Being that someone can get rather frustrating, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, just Romain coming to terms with his sexuality.

 

 

 

_ Switzerland / Dubai, winter 2018/2019 _

 

 

Romain stepped out of ski bindings and checked his phone for any feedback on his pathetic request:

«Would you send me a photo?»

There was a new message from Kevin.

_\- Of? -_

«You, dumbass»

He was apparently waiting for a reply as he responded right away:

_\- Thought you wanted some specific part :P -_

«Well, left knee would be nice»

_\- Duh -_

_\- What are you doing? -_

«Apart from missing you?»

«Skiing»

_\- And texting?! That’s some risky multitasking :P_

«You told me to be reckless…»

«Nah, having a break. You?» He was glad all his mushiness was met with ease. Sitting on a bench in dimly lit après-ski bar in pleasant state of numbness, his limbs melting down, he sipped his tea. Two beeps made him lift an eyelid.

_\- Netflix & chill :D -_

_\- Miss you too -_

With a weird picture attached. It took Romain a few moments of turning the phone upside down and to the sides to figure out it was actually a knee. _Idiot_ , he thought fondly. Right after, a selfie arrived of Kevin sprawled out on the bed, an arm folded under his head, with the sweetest of smiles, icy blue eyes sparkling as only they knew when he was relaxed and happy, and a caption:  _Have some sWEeT dreams, honey <3_

Oh, he surely was going to. The photo leaving much to imagination was more sensual than any “specific part” itself could be, with t-shirt pulled up slightly on one side, giving a glimpse of sun-kissed skin – the Emirates winter was quite different – and the hem of boxers pushed damn low… Kevin knew very well what he was doing, he was such a filthy tease under his angelic façade. Grosjean closed his eyes, picturing how he would slide his hands under the wrinkled fabric, feeling up the trained abs and chest, fingers grazing against hard nipples, drawing soft gasps from the Dane, how he would pull those briefs all the way down and sink into that perfect body, pretty much mirroring the movements of his tongue in Kevin's mouth, who'd be clutching the bedsheets, knuckles turning white and hands shaking as he always did, biting his fist so hard that he already had permanent marks there and… no. Scratch that. This was Romain's fantasy. In which they didn’t need to be careful about the hotel guests next door or someone passing by the room in motorhome. That was one of the reasons he really wanted to see Kevin during the winter: to go somewhere, on their own, and fuck him out of his voice. And then stay, for once, holding that pure beauty to his chest, watch him sleep and wake up, kiss him good morning and bring him breakfast to bed and be just disgustingly sentimental, because Kevin deserved that and much more, for giving all he had and never asking for attention, affection, anything, knowing his place. But how to arrange it, Romain still wasn’t sure.

What he was absolutely sure of, though, was that he missed the feeling of hard muscles and tendons under his hands, badass stubble burning his mouth, strong limbs wrapping around him painfully tight, deep sound of Kevin's choked growls; his scent, his taste, his shuddered breaths, he missed it all too much to replace it sufficiently with anything else.

He opened his eyes. The bar wasn’t the best place to deepen this kind of thoughts. Good thing he was sitting, but he couldn’t sit forever and blame the flush on his cheeks on cold outside or heat from the fireplace. He resisted taking one last look at the picture, took a few steady breaths instead and finished the tea. Perhaps he’ll clear his head a little bit out there in the freeze.

 

He wanted to do things right, wanted to be responsible and reliable, but ironically, this effort was eating him from the inside, changing his noble, should-be-natural intentions into a sort of violent obligation, what used to be the sense of his life turning into a role-model forced on him, suffocating him, leading him to hate it sooner or later. Sooner than later. As for now, no hatred, just a dull, empty feeling of helplessness, of no escape, of being doomed.

His only moments of freedom where the race weeks. A parallel reality with its own dynamics and rules, that simple merry-go-round of sex, driving, sex, flying, sex, media, sex that he couldn’t get enough of, with useless excuse that if they kind of “overfucked” during the season, he would carry on through the winter easier. But making love is nothing like growing fat for hibernation, he found that out very soon.

This break was getting way too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, the winter break, always a suffering...  
> Hope you enojyed! <3


	8. more than words (is all you have to do to make it real)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Call him girlish, he would love to hear those corny three words from Romain.  
> If Romain wasn’t kinda constipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we’re in 2019, hope you don’t mind.

 

 

_ Bahrain, 2019 _

 

He dug his heels in Kevin’s lower back, beloved body weighing him into the mattress, hoping the bed wouldn’t creak too loud, though he only wished for it to slam against the wall cracking the plaster…

“Okay?” Kevin whispered.

“Yeah, I’m good, c’mon…”

At some point, inborn curiosity got the better of Romain and he wanted to know “what it feels like.” He came to understand a bit better why his teammate felt more comfortable bottoming. There was a whole different intimacy to it, which he struggled to embrace at the beginning, though. It felt like losing his masculinity, like… some sort of self-humiliation, until he realized that Kevin would be losing it every single time he was fucked into any surface he was against, yet he never showed signs of not being man enough, and surely Romain didn’t respect him less for giving in. Quite the opposite. Honestly, having that tough guy trapped underneath him at complete surrender was a) an incredible turn-on and b) a strong contrast that was giving some new depth to Kevin’s personality. And Romain kind of liked the idea of showing that contrast himself. So, he swallowed his pride and spread his legs. A couple of times since then. And though it wasn’t exactly Kevin’s thing, he found it enjoyable, too. Anything was enjoyable with Romain, because when he was doing things, he was doing them full on. Sometimes even too keen for his own good. It showed on track, where he appeared faster than his reflexes every now and then, and it showed off track, like when on the first time he urged Kevin to fuck the hell out of him and regretted it painfully the day after. But neither one nor other have ever discouraged him from pushing hard.

„Would you… talk to me in French?” Kevin managed between the kisses.

„Huh?”

„I mean, just now…”

Grosjean smiled smugly.

„Sure. _Sûr_ ,” he corrected himself. „Allons, Kevin, prends-moi… j'ai envie de toi, chéri… Ah oui, allez – oui, oui, _oui!_ ” he gasped, digging his nails into Kevin´s back, „c'est bon… allez, plus fort… s'il te plaît, Kevin, baise-moi fort…” He was stumbling over his words a bit, high in haze of need, thrusting his hips upwards and Kevin got the message clear. He grasped at Romain's shoulders and pounded hard into him. „ _Aaah_ _oui_ … c'est bon, chéri… baise-moi bon… Allez, fais-moi jouir, Kevin, s'il te plaît… fais-moi jouir, chéri…” His hushed voice trembling and not only from Kevin's frantic rhythm; with last few thrusts and strokes the Dane pushed his lover over the craved edge. Romain moaned a bit coarsely. „C'est _ç_ _aaah_ , c'est si bon, chéri…” Gasping for air, he nearly whispered: „Tiens-moi, Kevin,” along with clinging to him, and Kevin held him tight and thought that words sometimes really don't matter. It was the wavy tone and unmistakable non-verbal communication that let Kevin understand just everything. And make his teammate come pretty hard. Must have been nice, to speak out his needs and feelings in the most natural way, not having to concentrate on English when he shouldn’t be concentrating on anything at all, he reckoned.

 

„Let's have it the other way around next time,” Grosjean suggested.

„You on top? Gladly…”

„No, I mean… that is, yeah, also, but I mean you talking dirty in Danish.”

Kevin let out a strange laughter.

„Nay, man. There's no bigger turn-off in this world. Trust me, that night would end after first two words. I mean it!” he exclaimed when Romain chuckled in disbelief. „I don't even know what I could say, we… it's like we don't even have words for that…” He felt utterly ridiculous with his mothertongue, compared to the sexiness of French love words… Grosjean shook his head.

„You surely can think of something. I trust you,” he smirked.

„On one condition. It will be a try to not laugh challenge.”

The Frenchman nodded.

„I won't, I promise I won't.”

 

 

 

_ China, 2019 _

 

He cracked into laughter on the very first sentence.

„I'm sorry,” he pulled Kevin in a tight hug, „I'm sorry, it's just…” He couldn't speak, choking on giggles and stroking his teammate's back as if to apologize.

„I know.” _Not that I didn_ _'_ _t warn you_ , the Dane felt needless to add.

„No! I'm really sorry, Kevin,” Romain kissed him. „I didn't mean it, you know, your language is your language, it is always the most beautiful, don't care if some stupid ass laughs at it… Just go on, okay? Please?” he whispered.

„Okay.” Defeated, Kevin took a breath. He might take advantage of it, after all. „Jeg elsker dig, du ved?” He caressed Grosjean's cheek. „Jeg elsker dit smil, jeg elsker dine tårer, jeg elsker din krop, jeg elsker din sjæl…” Leaning in until their lips touched, he whispered: „Jeg elsker dig så meget, selvom du ikke kan elsker mig tilbage.”

Romain was watching him intently, trying to guess the meaning from his look, expression, tone.

„That wasn’t exactly dirty, was it?” he asked softly. Kevin shook his head. „What was it, then?” Another shake of head, coy smile.

“I didn't ask you neither,” he pointed out.

“Not that what I was babbling made any sense. C'mon, tell me.”

“Later.” He didn't want to ruin the mood. Not before having sex. They might not have it afterwards.

 

~

 

“So, is it later now?”

“Why, Romain?!”

“Because I want to know! Because it obviously had a meaning for you.”

Touché, darling. Sensitive as always. Kevin took a deep breath. Not going to get away from this…

“I love you, you know? I love your smile, I love your tears, I love your body, I love your soul…” C'mon, you can do this… Fingertips grazed lightly over his face. Eyes shut, he finished: “I love you so much, even though you can't love me back…” Romain’s heavy breaths told him everything he wasn’t able to say out loud. All about the remorses, desire and passion, guilt and shame for second-thoughts he shouldn’t have had…

„Kevin,” he whispered pressing kisses to his neck and shoulder. The Dane hushed him. He wasn't sure Grosjean had anything to say that he actually wanted to hear. Apologies, explanations, vague _“one day when…”_ promises? No, thanks.

Nay. One thing to know was that when Romain Grosjean wanted to talk, he talked. Kevin wasn't Guenther, he couldn't shut him up that easily. And he talked even if he didn’t know exactly what to say.

„No, I… I mean, I really…” He sighed. _I really appreciate it?_ Sounds like a polite reply to an email. _It was the most beautiful way of declaring love that I_ _'_ _ve ever heard?_ Sounds cheap and phony. Maybe it was just because he heard it from Kevin. Was it in any romantic movie, he'd call it sappy and cliché, but in Kevin's strangled voice, in harsh, absolutely romance-proof Danish, it gave him chills even before he knew the exact meaning… _I wish I could tell you the same?_ Utterly true, but inapplicable in their situation. Then he could as well just reciprocate, and he wasn't supposed to. He settled for the lesser evil: „Thank you. Thank you, sweetie.”

There are serious polemics in linguistics on whether or not things are defined by what we call them, words creating concepts that aren’t necessarily the only ones right, but they are the ones we are used to, the most common ones, like some general truth; there is however the way of breaking it all down, baring the subject to the core, stripping it of all the names and categories the society had put on it, to see what it really is, without right or wrong.

As any other racing driver, Grosjean obviously had no clue at all about the borders of linguistics and philosophy. He simply felt that while you don’t shape things by putting them into words, they aren’t so brutally real. And he was scared of stripping the subject of his relationship with Kevin, knowing what he would see would turn him upside down and inside out. He was unsettled enough as he was already.

 

 

 

_ Azerbaijan, 2019 _

 

Kevin’s breath hitched in his throat as he entwined their fingers. No way… He was hundred percent sure Romain had that ring on earlier in the day, he remembered the sound of it tapping against the table at drivers' briefing… He double checked: no, it was actually Grosjean's left hand he was holding. With nothing but reddened knuckle on his wedding finger. He decided not to think about it. At least not now. Preferably not even after. Not to get high on hopes. Yet he was sure his mind would drift straight there, once they were done and he was left alone… Not now. Please. He leaned in for a kiss.

 

 

_ Spain, 2019 _

 

_If this is his way of paying respect,_ Kevin thought covering the ringless hand wandering up his thigh with his own, _he delivered_.

And though it hurts when all he ever gets in reply to each and every whispered, gasped, sobbed, playful, teasing _“I love you”_ is silence and a shadow of apologetic smile, but after all, words count about as much as understanding that French dirty talk – you don’t need them, you just _know_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope the linguistic paragraph made some sense! It’s difficult to understand in native language, let alone explaining in foreign XD but it felt important to me to put in there... (Don’t mind that, it’s just some studies getting to me :P )
> 
> And yeah, any feedback warmly appreciated <3


	9. hold him close (to feel his heart beat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two crashes, one team principal that doesn’t know exactly what to do and one unfinished job done by Romain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Funny thing is, the draft of this was written before the Nico’s crash, but it looks kinda similar...)

_  Hungary, 2019 _

 

 

That's just about how unoriginal life gets at times. Why wouldn't it use a bit of drama to catalyze things, when people can't move ahead themselves? The car spun, hit the kerb and flew flipping across the air only to meet the barrier in a tangle of carbon fiber. And Grosjean saw it all. Well, almost all, a cloud of dust and debris let him only imagine the impact. But the black-and-golden livery was unmistakable.

“Is he okay?” he asked. His engineer made a noncommittal sound equal to _we don_ _'_ _t know yet_. “Is he okay?!” Romain yelled. By that time, though, he was passing by and the answer didn't really matter to him, as he could clearly see his teammate struggling to get out of the wreck.

And the next thing he saw was the wall he hit after colliding with somebody. It might as well be his most stupid crash, and there was some solid competition – that one behind the safety car in Baku probably the main. He had much troubles ahead of him, but in that precise moment, there was nothing for him in this world, no explanations, no apologies to the team, to whoever whose car he shunted into… Nothing but the staggering Magnussen. He approached the latter along with the medical car, squeezed his shoulders, dying to just hold him close, tell him… everything that needs to be told, see that contagious smile and kiss him out of breath… Kevin gave a reassuring nod and left with the medics.

Romain threw up as soon as he got to the boxes and the whole situation – or rather it's alternative ending – dawned on him. Twice.

For the first time ever, he wished their team had a stronger PR department. Because he had no clue what to say when he would face the press. And they clearly wanted him to come up with something himself. Guenther just scolded him with a reproachful look.

“What the hell, Romain?!”

“ _What?_ I ran on debris! It was impossible to avoid, goddammit!”

“That’s exactly why you were supposed to slow down!”

“I did!” He did indeed, to catch a better glimpse of Kevin’s car. Not enough, probably. He didn’t really check the flags nor the speed.

Their nervous and useless conversation has left the team boss disturbed. Of course, Grosjean could have run on debris. Only Guenther's sixth sense was telling him – screaming at him, more precisely – that there was something off. Yes, Kevin warned him upon his arrival at the team. The principal could still recall the painfully guilty expression as his new driver muttered about “some past that could catch up with him, although he's now leading a perfectly appropriate life.”

“What kind of past?” Steiner asked picturing mild criminality, substance abuse or something similar. Barely a whisper from the Dane came unexpected:

“I'm gay.”

“I'm straight, just for the record,” he shrugged and patted his shoulder reassuringly. As if to say: we're your team, we've got your back. “You’re surely not the first and not the last.” Kevin’s eternally thankful smile stayed with him for quite a while. Poor kid, he thought, must be tough enough without having to fear that the team would write him off…

He mentioned the matter, between one thing and another, the next time he had a talk with Gene. Not as a question of attitude they should take, but rather stating a fact that they had a driver to stand up for, just in case, because c'mon, we live in 21st century, it's not like they can witch-hunt the guy just for who he slept with some years ago… As a true entrepreneur he was, Haas had already a simple business scheme forming behind his furrowed brows. Being the first team to support a gay driver would more than likely gain them popularity – of course there would be a fuss, but overall, people are quite open-minded these days, especially with the F1 attracting more and more young fans, the Liberty would surely tag along providing support to get credit, too, hence yes, popularity. And popularity gains money. Any more money could help them get closer to the top teams. And they'll make a good deed, on top of all. They'll save a promising driver's career. If he stays promising, that is. Time will show whether he's worth the risk. However, he could imagine such scenario.

Anyways, Guenther was well aware as for Kevin, but this… this blossoming friendship between his drivers suddenly seemed gotten out of hand. And he didn't like its direction a tad. First, nothing good can ever come from loving a man devoted to his family. Second, not much good from relationships in working place, neither. Third, theirs isn't just a working place, it's a goddamned racing track where you mustn't get distracted a split second by your friend/boyfriend/lover/whoever he is crashing out. And you absolutely get distracted. Because you care, and you care more when you have all kinds of moments together flashing before your eyes. Because that thought is still there, no matter how hard you try not to let it come across your mind. Well, it depends. Kevin wouldn't react like that, Steiner reckoned. For sure not. He's different, he's way tougher in the car. He would ask if Romain was okay, of course, he'd go nuts once the race would be over and probably would head straight to the hospital, because who can blame him for checking on his teammate, right? But he'd stay focused on the track. Racing through everything. It wasn't just a pose, the principal realized with time of knowing the Dane, he really had this seventies vibe. Freaked out by a little spider, but astonishingly calm (although pissed and frustrated) after walking – or rather being half-carried away – from what had to be one of the worst looking crashes Guenther has seen in his years in F1. _That's_ _racing_ , he simply said, _we_ _all_ _know_ _the_ _risks_. Of course, they do. But not everyone has nerves of steel. Romain Grosjean was about as far from those as he was from the championship. So, aside from moral judgements, which Guenther wasn't the one to make, he was more bothered by the impact on their performance. Thinking back, from what he could tell, it has improved since they got closer, especially in the Frenchman's case. But that's what he's all about: they're good, he races great. Magnussen crashes, he crashes. They have a fight, they break up or whatever – which is highly probable, see Steiner's earlier first and second point - and Romain just breaks down? It would be better to end this thing before it gets more serious – if it's not too late…

Just that Guenther, recalling the dove-eyed looks between his boys, didn't feel like he had a right to. Bloody hell, where are the borders of professional approach and strictly private area? In the barriers, probably…

 

~

 

“You scared the living shit out of me, fucking idiot!”

“Glad to see you, too,” Kevin entered the driver’s room. The end of his sentence was muffled by a breathless kiss; he heard the door shut closed.

“I love you, Kevin,” Romain said quietly but firmly, clutching his shoulders, their lips ghostly touching. Out of clear blue sky. “I love you, I love you, I love you, Kevin…for all the times I didn't tell you…” He cradled that seemingly fragile frame as if though it could fall apart any second now, careful not to squeeze too much, kissing his neck and jaw, stumbling upon his own words. “I love you so much, Kevin, I… I'm so sorry… for all the times I didn't say it back… I love you, I love you, Kevin, I love you…”

Kevin was melting slowly in his arms. Somewhere around the fourteenth _“I love you”_ he started to believe it's happening. He knew Grosjean crashed because of him, and as unsettling as it was, it was also… he couldn’t name that fuzzy feeling spreading in his chest and stomach. It started when he climbed out of the car and suddenly a pair of hands grabbed him from behind and he turned around only to see his own reflection in a visor and the Haas logo on the chest. At the time he didn't understand how the heck Romain appeared there nor did he care, to be honest. He was just thankful for that moment of comfort.

 

He had spent the night in hospital and for obvious reasons, Romain didn’t come to see him. It was all awkward enough as it was, Kevin found out catching up with the news. Team, colleagues, media, fans – the Haas’ double crash was the topic of the week everywhere by now and hardly any event from tomorrow’s race could top them. Crashjean and Crashnussen, the dream-team. No matter what results you bring, one misstep is enough for praise to turn into mockery and hate. And then there were the _“aww, sweet bromance!! <3”_ comments. Subtle folks, Kevin thought, regular rutting against the wall in motorhome after the race is slightly more than a bromance… Anyways, he couldn’t care less. But he knew his teammate, knew he was going out of his mind. The last thing he needed right now was to possibly break down in public place, and Kevin could understand that. They were texting, though:

«How are you, Kev??»

_\- A bit fucked up but its ok :) -_

_\- What happened? -_

«You crashed»

_\- No shit, thought I had the pole! Must be concussion :/ -_

_\- What happened to YOU?! -_

«I crashed too»

_\- Grosjean, I actually hit my ribs and my legs, but NOT my head ffs! -_

«Well then think with it and dont ask stupid questions»

Kevin wanted to think, but since he received no technical explanation, all he could think of was that Romain went into the wall seeing him crash. Which could only mean he cared _much_. A bit too much, perhaps. Which could really mean…

 

“I love you, Kevin.” Romain pulled back just to take him in from head to toes as if to make sure his teammate was actually entire there, alive and relatively well. Pale and wide-eyed, he truly seemed more shaken by the accident than the Dane himself, fingertips ghosting over bruised ribs with what resembled worship, and Kevin was sorry.

“Love you too,” he cupped his face for a proper look in the eyes, then slid his hands to rest them on tense shoulders. There was something misconnected in his brain. His first thought after the crash was: good thing there is the summer break, won’t miss a race if the ribs are cracked. Only then the family, Romain… Hence why he was sorry. Especially knowing how sensitive the topic was for Grosjean, the GPDA speaker for safety, four years later still with the reference to Jules on his helmet. But he felt like he could never respect himself again if he held back, stopped pushing his limits. _If you no longer go for a gap that exists…_ However, he didn’t want to think of Ayrton right now, but those had to be the wisest words ever said about a racing driver. He would put his life on the line, he was made that way. Romain said it himself, after all, and with a share of admiration: _you were born a racer, don’t let anyone take that away from you_. Kevin couldn’t let neither him. For as much as he loved him. For as much as Romain loved him back.

The ribs weren’t cracked, by the way, which he pointed out, reminding the Frenchman of how safe their sport has become. That crash was way more spectacular than serious.

“I’m fine, Romain. I’ll always be fine, promise,” he offered a reassuring smile. “And you now go and give me a race to watch. Get some good points also for me, love.”

~

He didn’t give a damn about who might think what, if that radio was broadcasted. _“Great job, Romain, thank you, so proud of you, man,”_ is not a love confession of any kind. For common people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I won’t hold back. (...) I would put my life on the line," is from Kevin’s memorable quote.
> 
> Thanks to all of you who are still with me, this suffering is slowly coming to an end ;)


	10. that’s the price you pay (leave behind your heart)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Problem with much talking is that you sometimes don’t know when to shut up.  
> And problem with cheating is that it’s easier to take out your frustrations on the illegitimate side.  
> All together, it gets annoying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Troubles in paradise, shortly.

 

 

_ Singapore, 2019 _

 

 

He sat on the floor leaning against the bed for long, head hung between his knees, shaking with inexplicable anger, frustration, overflow of energy that he couldn't get into right direction. A devastating work-out in the gym didn't help, nor did pacing around his hotel room, occasionally kicking up pieces of furniture.

In the middle of said dull activity a knock came from the door.

„ _Oui?_ ” he called out automatically, caught up in his native-language swearing.

„It's me,” all too familiar voice replied on the edge of laughter. Grosjean groaned. He didn't want his teammate to see him in such state. And wasn't really excited about seeing Kevin, neither… Yet, that thought only took seconds while he walked to the door and swung them open.

„What is it?”

„I could ask the same,” Magnussen blinked at cold welcome. „May I come in?”

„Yeah, sure.”

It didn't sound too convincing.

„So?”

„ _So?_ ”

„Is this all about the quali? I mean, P12 isn't that bad. I know it sucks, knowing you could do better, but still, it was good, Romain. _You_ were good, fuck, that was one sick lap in Q1!”

„Thank you.”

„No, you don't,” he observed. Grosjean snorted.

„If you say so, okay, I don't. Now what? You wanna fuck or something? Because I'm not in a mood to chatter the night away.”

„I'm not in a mood to fuck it away, now what do we do?” Kevin moved closer, noticing his teammate was keeping a certain distance. „C'mon,” he sighed, „I can do pretty much, but I haven't learned to read the minds, yet. So please, give me at least a hint. Romain,” he said softly, taking one more step forward. Grosjean backed off.

“Would be better if you learned to read minds…”

As far as Kevin knew, being someone's lover didn’t involve serving as their punchbag. He wanted to be understanding and supportive. He had been for long enough. But this was beyond any good will, because Grosjean was just bluntly mean, lately, mocking him for _anything_ to the point of berating, and Kevin couldn’t believe this spiteful side of the man he thought he knew pretty well. Then the next time they met, he would be all sweet and caring and it felt just how they used to be, and this schizophrenic mess was starting to get on Kevin’s nerves.

“What was this for?” he snapped. The Frenchman just shrugged. “No, don’t shrug at me, what did I do?”

“Nothing,” came another shrug, “why?”

Kevin took a deep breath. _Don’t shout like a hysterical bitch, K-mag, you’re better than that._

“Look, I'm not any whipping boy here, if you've got a problem with _me_ , fine, just tell me, but the rest of your bullshit take it out on someone el…”

“ _You_ are my problem!” Grosjean cut in. “You just came and fucked up my life and now…”

“Whoa, the last time I checked, I didn’t dare you to kiss me!”

“Not like you had to kiss me, you know, it was a game…”

Kevin felt as if everything inside him crumbled to dust. He didn’t even bother to think of a reply, as he didn’t trust his voice.

“Fuck you,” he managed to hiss, bumping their shoulders as he walked for the door. The slam must have shaken the whole hotel floor and he didn’t care if he was a hysterical bitch, anymore.

 

~

 

He should’ve seen it coming. One cannot simply cheat and expect to get away with it without paying the dues. Karma decided to hit back and aim precisely at his weakest spot, which were bare nerves. Good old anger issues kept getting worse and worse of late, and after he threw one hell of a tantrum during discussions with the boss about what had happened to him, or rather to his suspension, when he ran on a sausage kerb, he nearly broke into tears. For once, Guenther let him shout and scream and swear, and then just patted his shoulder and told him to go get some rest and maybe see the therapist again.

He was wrecked. And the worst thing was, falling out with Kevin didn’t help _at_ _all_.

 

 

 

_ Japan, 2019 _

 

He would have to be blind not to notice. At first, he was glad the matter solved itself without his intervention. Then he realized the solution probably wasn’t the best one. He needed them to perform. They weren’t.

He approached his younger driver, deciding to skip the unnecessary formalities.

“Kevin,” the boss put a hand on his shoulder, “I'm not stupid, you know. I don’t know what happened and I don’t want to know, just start talking to each other you two, or I'll bring it up at the briefing. We need to work as a team and that’s quite difficult if I have two drivers barely looking at each other.”

No point in contradicting or trying to deny the obvious. Kevin's mind got stuck on the word _briefing_. He'll have to see that asshole again. Romain had tried a few times to say something to him, but was heavily ignored, so he stopped trying. And now Kevin should go and talk to him? Screw that…

~

“Hey.”

Grosjean turned swiftly.

“Hey,” he said to the toes of Kevin's sneakers.

“I just wanna make it clear.”

“Yeah.”

“You regret it?”

“What?!”

“Getting together with me, you regret it?”

“No!” He even lifted his head. “For God's sake, no…”

“Then I really don’t understand the rules of this game anymore.”

Romain sighed, dropping his eyes again.

“Shouldn’t have said that,” he murmured. “Like a lot of other things…”

“So?”

“So what?”

“Can we talk like two normal people, for once?” Kevin folded his arms on his chest, rocking back and forth on his feet in wait.

And right then, when he needed them the most, Romain Grosjean ran out of words.

He was watching his nervously twitching hands and suddenly they got blurry. He shook his head. Kevin’s sneakers stepped into his field of vision again; the Dane lifted Romain’s lately ever-present sunglasses on top of his head and cupped his chin. All his anger and bitterness dissipated at the sight. He wiped away the tear that reached his thumb.

“Hey, I wanna help you, whatever you are going through, but I need to know what it is.”

Romain shook his head again, swallowing thickly.

„Look, I… I'm losing grip,” he finally spoke. After a moment they both laughed, a strained snort, eyes meeting for a split second.

„Well, that was for the practice, and now the actual problem?”

„I'm… I don’t know, it's… it's not that I love you less or… I don’t, maybe I even love you more, and that's why I… I'm losing it… It's my nerves, Kevin. Not what I feel for you,” he dared to look him straight in the eyes, eventually. „I don't know what I'm doing, what to do, what… I didn’t want to hurt you, Kev, I'm really sorry, and I didn’t want to break up, I… I'm…”

„Hey,” Grosjean felt a touch on his shoulder, „shh, I knew what was in stake. If you need… time or space or whatever, you have it. Whatever makes you feel better. Okay? Don't kick yourself up, Romain. You need to focus now, and I'm definitely not gonna distract you. Just sort it out, figure out what's best for you, and come tell me.”

“I’m sorry…” He enveloped Kevin in a loose hug, leaving him enough space to pull away if he didn’t want to share the personal space anymore (which he would understand, after all). Kevin didn’t pull away.

“I know. But let go now and focus on this weekend. Or Guenther’s gonna kill us both. We can sort this out later, when you calm down a bit, make up your mind and stuff. _Focus_ , _Romain_. You were a crap today.”

“Thank you, I didn’t notice,” he laughed dryly. And God, Kevin was already missing him while letting go of comfortable warmth of his body, way more than he would allow himself to show. They were professionals. Professionals wear sunglasses and put all their efforts into sounding reasonable and convincing; then don’t have any strength left to fight the angst when on their own, but it doesn’t matter. A professional can kick up the furniture some more or cry himself to sleep all he wants, as long as no one knows. Or at least, as long as no one sees, so that they can pretend they don’t know.

 

He didn’t need a fucking therapist. He didn’t need time, he only needed a solution. A decision. And that was too hard to make. Rather impossible.

He couldn't go without Kevin, and it wasn't just a momentary feeling. He knew that all along. All of this was going to lead nowhere.

Because there was also some elementary school math involved:

1 < 4

It is lesser evil to hurt one person than four.

Former bank employee Grosjean was good with numbers, he knew that. If only hearts wanted to do the math.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This lacks one important dimension, but I really don’t want to bring Romain’s family further into this fic as I don’t consider it respectful, so… just imagine the kind of problems he could have in his intimate life (based on the winter break chapter), plus the guilty feelings for his second-thoughts…
> 
> And well, you know the drill: kudos/comments :) would make me truly happy! XD


	11. hold me like you’ve never lost your patience (tell me that you love me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No big thing, just Romain sealing his feelings here...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I broke my updating pattern, sorry...  
> Please, take time with the final note :)

 

 

 

 

_ Texas, USA, 2019 _

 

Four words that had him knock on Romain's door, all decked out to boost his self-confidence, although it didn't really work.

_«_ _Can you come over?_ _»_

He wanted to meet him anyways, Romain’s performance sitting heavy on his chest since Japan through Mexico, and his worn-out looks becoming too hard to watch. And Kevin had his own interpretation. Just a quick check of perfect hairdo in front camera, and the door handle clicked. Grosjean raised his eyebrows:

“Are we out for a dinner?”

Kevin shook his head vaguely, at loss for any witty response. Indeed, it was stupid, but he felt like if he had to face a devastating conversation and possibly not handle it with all the grace he'd like to, of which he was truly afraid, at least looking as good as he could would make him seem less ridiculous…

“Well, come in, then?” Romain pulled him inside, taken aback by this strange behavior. Kevin was shuffling from foot to foot, hands in his pockets. “What's up, Kev? Take a seat, no? Want a drink?”

“Sorry, I just… No, I’m fine, thanks,” he half-sat on armrest of the sofa, “just wanna tell you that you don’t have to feel bad about it – you know, about me and stuff, in the end I don't have any right… I understand you, really, just… let it be.” Oh fuck, why the hell couldn't he keep his voice at least close to steady?! “Live your life like you did before I fucked it up – I know I actually did and it was wrong all along… We’re good, I’m… good, it’s all good, you don’t have to… you know…” He cut it off, as repeating himself wouldn’t make it any easier to believe, and it was quite difficult to speak with that tremble in his chin, anyways.

After a while of processing what he'd just heard, Romain stepped closer. Kevin was right, of course, theirs was a precarious situation, but he was willing to deal with it, for those moments of extasy, feeling of fulfillment, for Kevin's smile, which now he couldn't find even a shadow of. The Dane was leaning his elbow on the back of the couch, hand on his mouth, blinking often but not blinking the blank stare away. There couldn't really be a better moment for what Romain was up to. He'd found too much in Kevin to let go of it, too much energy, inspiration, motivation, serenity, friendship, empathy, support, unconditional devotion that didn't hold any responsibilities against him, it was just pure heartfelt love… And, last but not least, the sex was mind-blowing. Dirty and pristine, tender and passionate, body and soul. He pulled Kevin's hand from his face and tied a solid leather bracelet with a shape of seagull around it. Magnussen snapped; he gaped cluelessly at his wrist, at their entwined fingers, at Romain’s knee pressing against his; missing the meaning behind the silvery bird but pretty sure it was something deep.

“This is actually why I called you here,” Grosjean said. “I don’t suck because I’m sorry for you, I suck because I so damn miss you. Yes, we're fucked up. But that doesn't change what I feel for you. Don't take responsibility for my decisions, don't think of them and absolutely don't blame yourself – they are mine and the responsibility is also mine. If I was going with whores, everybody could spit in my face, but this is beyond any judgements. You might not be mother of my children but that doesn’t make you any less worth being loved. And despite what I stupidly said, I’m not playing around, I’ve never been. Never. I need you, I want to be with you and I stay with you, Kevin. If you still want to cope with me, that is.”

The Dane looked up at him, giving his hand a small squeeze. Just a boy, with those sparkling eyes and smile that would melt the icebergs (if they weren’t already melting by themselves, poor things), all sweet and devoted, that was his Kevin. Nothing to do with his public image. Yes, he was sharp around the edges, but then, all the racers are. They aren’t meant to be nice and kind. That’s the beginning of the end, Grosjean thought of his fellow countryman and a current Formula E champion, and the others who joined him there like Pascal, Stoffel – they were all too good at heart to make their way up the F1 grid. He was considered a funny fellow and generally a nice person outside the car, however the infamous moaning, a bit too short temper and occasional outbursts were keeping the right balance. All people saw of Kevin Magnussen were other drivers’ team radio and his own independent statements on verge of arrogance, but underneath those was an intelligent young man with great sense of humor, with the views and values Romain could relate to, despite their often banters. Raw beauty met finesse and elegance and they blended together flawlessly. Under all the differences, there was something solid and strong. He honestly saw the two of them in years to come, those three weeks of weird break helped him realize it, and that picture was giving him strength to carry on with his double life. For now. He believed fate will cut that Gordian knot for him – somehow, someday. Till then, all he can do is try to think twice before he opens his mouth at Kevin, and he could tell already he was going to fail, but as long as he can make amends, they’ll be fine. And he was disposed to almost anything to make them.

But that will wait. If their relationship has taught him something, apart from giving a blowjob and lying half-professionally, it was to live for the moment. This precise moment when he had Kevin’s tongue twirling lazily in his mouth. In the end, it’s all right balanced as it is. If life was made of such blissful moments only, one would quickly forget to appreciate them. He just needs to learn to deal with all the rest possibly without hurting people around, and not hurting himself more than necessary. Tough one. But manageable, with a little help. Which he would get. That was at least one certainty in all his uncertain future. Sliding his hand up Kevin’s arm, he brushed his fingers over the bracelet. When it caught his eye in a local shop, it was so random that he put it down on destiny and bought it right away. Listening to the longing shrieky calls back in Marina Bay, he had decided the seagull would be his ideal tattoo. A wish to fly away, leave the safe shore, soar above the stormy waves, all in two fine curves carved into his shoulder blade, exactly where Kevin was always digging his nails as he hit the apex. _I wanna give you the freedom you’ve given to me_ , he said once, and it struck Grosjean for quite a while. It took more than a while, though, to fully understand the meaning to its depth. And with time, the concept of freedom was shifting slightly from his own inner barriers to the outside world.

“You haven’t fucked up anything, really,” he broke the kiss, ignoring the annoyed sound. He needed to say this. “Thank you, love.”

Kevin stood up from the armrest and pressed himself again Romain, last remaining gap between them closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And although heartbroken, I hereby declare this work completed. I feel like I’ve told all that needed to be told and from here their story will go on round and round, because that’s how it goes in life: racing, making love, falling out, falling in… without me, and you.
> 
> Many thanks to all of you that stayed till the end, left kudos, or just read it through and hopefully were left with some good feelings…
> 
> Any final statement from you would make me very happy, feel free to write :)
> 
> Special thanks to you: AnaMachado, Anna_banana – may I call you two the flagbearers of this precious little ship? :) – and TheShhhSpot, it is thanks to your support that this work was completely uploaded, I wouldn’t have had the guts without your comments, really! This story is something personal for me, it was the main reason I created an account and knowing there is someone out there who appreciates was so, so important when I didn’t feel much confident about it… <3 <3 <3
> 
> Anyways, don’t cry for this ship, as the guys seem to have a very nice relationship in real life we’ll see what next season brings… ;)

**Author's Note:**

> And obviously, everything in this work, plot and characters, are purely fictional product of my imagination :)


End file.
